Right Here, Right Now
by crashing-avalanches
Summary: It didn't matter that he was going to be taken away, and he didn't know when he was going to come back. Was he even going to come back? He didn't know for sure, but all that mattered was that he was with Roderich, right here, right now. PruAus!Historical fic. Written for my Paage-kouhai.


"_Right here, I promise you somehow;  
That tomorrow will wait, for some other day to be,  
But right now it's you and me."  
__**~Right Here, Right Now –High School Musical 3~**_

* * *

He slides out from under the sheets cautiously, careful not the wake the smaller form curled up into a ball, sleeping soundly with soft snores coming from him. Padding his way carefully into the bathroom, he brushes his teeth and slicks his hair back with water, looking at himself in the mirror cautiously to check his reflection. After being satisfied with his hair, he quietly makes his way to the bedroom and picks up his boxers from the floor and drags on a black wife beater, turning the doorknob cautiously to minimize the sound produced. Closing the door quietly behind him, he makes his way to the kitchen, humming a tune to himself as he does so.

Once in the kitchen, he turns on the coffee maker and pulls down the glass jar of coffee beans from the counter above, spooning out just the right amount into the machine and setting it to do its job. Turning around, he pulls open the fridge and takes out bacon and eggs, and pops the toast into the toaster, starting up the stove to cook the bacon. He whisks the eggs finely; it's not as fine as how his sleeping partner would have done, but he tried his best. After turning the bacon on its other side, he hums softly as he pours the whisked egg into another pan and starts scrambling it, paying attention to every single detail as he notes the bacon cooking in the other pan. Somewhere during the time when he was obsessively taken by the fine details of cooking, the familiar yellow ball of fluff had come to settle in his hair, chirping contentedly with the slight heat provided by the fire of the gas stove.

Setting down the breakfast on one big plate on the tray, he carefully pours himself a glass of water (he doesn't do coffee) while he gets a steaming cup of the dark-brown beverage on the tray too, complete with utensils. He balances it carefully on his arm as he silently makes his way up back to the bedroom, cursing under his breath when his toe hits a loose step and he nearly trips. Finally, he makes his way back into the solace of the dark bedroom, which is still dark and hazy due to the curtains still being drawn and to the soft heaven of loose sheets and pillows on the king-sized bed.

He sets down the tray on the bedside table and picks up breakfast and starts poking at the breakfast before sending up a silent thank you to God before he digs into the meal, chewing cautiously before giving himself the okay to continue eating. Gilbird had flown out of his hair and was nestled in the pillow beside the one that his partner was sleeping on. He smiles and reaches over to stroke his finger over the yellow crown, and pauses to take in the image of his sleeping lover. Dark brown locks were out of their usual style all set in place with gel and instead flowed loosely over his face, which was relaxed instead of his usual prim and proper polite face. His lean lithe body is curled up into a loose ball as he sleeps, without the pain, without the façade, one hand under his pillow and the other fisted loosely on the sheets.

He smiles, a gentle curve of his lips as he leans forward, forgetting breakfast for the moment as he brushes his thumb against the curve of the shell-pink lips, which would have probably looked too feminine on any man, but it suits him alright; him and his proper, prissy ways. He curves his hand to the angled face of his lover, gently caressing the milky skin and frowning slightly at the prominent cheekbones of the man. He was too thin, probably due to the stress from his leaders and everything he had been through since World War II. His smile drops completely from his face as he remembers the relief of seeing him being pushed out by the crowd of crying citizens as families were united, kisses and hugs exchanged and cries of relief let out into the air. He remembers Roderich standing there in the blur of human action, looking fondly at all his people, but staggering slightly as he leans against a pillar for support.

He remembers thinking that Roderich looks too pale, too thin and too disheveled. He would have never let himself fall to such a state if he hadn't been invaded; he cares too much about cleanliness and nutrition for that. He knows that although Roderich had managed to survive four concentration camps due to him being a nation, it's harder on him than any other Jew or branded traitor who has managed to go through all of that alive. This is because he knows that Roderich takes all of his people's pain and suffering onto himself, and he knows that he can only do so much and can only stand by and watch helplessly as his people cry and die with the next dawn. Like any other nation, Roderich loves his people, and it hurts so much when you watch all these people that you love unconditionally die, and you can't do anything.

* * *

Maybe that is how God feels when his mortal children on earth die, when they could have been immortal like him. Roderich told him once that being a nation felt like being a god of some sorts; you love your people, even when they are total strangers with all your heart, you automatically connect with them, you just _know _when someone is from your country and it immediately clicks with you. You can't bring yourself to hate them, even when they are the worst people the world has ever seen.

Maybe no matter how much torture West's merciless boss subjects him too, no matter what he does to his people; Roderich can't bring himself to hate that man who invaded him in a frenzy to unite Germany and Austria, because he is an _Austrian _by birth. Roderich loves his citizens, and that crazy man with big dreams, a loud voice and a comical mustache is still one of his people; which explains why Roderich still loves him despite everything he has done

He remembers Roderich being hospitalized after the world event, being taken care of by the loud-mouthed American as well as stupid England with his stupid eyebrows, being so weak and frail because of the whole ordeal. However, he had dragged himself up, ignoring protests from everyone including his ex-wife and staggered to the place where _that _man had ordered his subordinates to burn his body and stood there, shaking for a few moments before he fell to his knees, pressed his forehead against the ground and cried.

America and England had just stood silently at the side while Hungary sniffled against her sleeve, and West had merely bowed his head in remorse, the tears held in his eyes. He remembers that the ground had been still warm, and Roderich, still in his concentration camp clothes, smelling of gunpowder, sweat and blood had stayed there in the same position until the rain came down in torrents. He had pressed his hand to the ground as in blessing and murmured something, the tears having stopped already. After that, he had let Gilbert go to him, draw him into his arms and bring him back to the hospital, falling unconscious halfway through the trip.

It's been four months since the war ended, and Roderich was still hurting. Well, the Austrians were still suffering the bitter consequences from the war, being one of the countries that took the worst of it, others being Poland and Czechoslovakia. There had been a new treaty that Austria and Germany could never be united as a country again, and at the same, it applied to Hungary too. He remembers Elizaveta, the strong beautiful woman breaking down beside her ex-husband's hospital bed, her in a wheelchair herself, crying in his arms until her superiors finally had to take her away. Even when she was wheeled out, they had to hold her down as she thrashed and yelled Roderich's name, yelled "I love you" so many times. Roderich himself had reached out for her, gasping wordlessly as she was taken further and further away from him, no more tears to cry as everything had been shed for his people, and for that man, who had been the root cause of all this suffering.

He had approached the brown-haired nation, who still sat up in bed in the middle of the night, staring silently at the pile of concentration camp clothes that were stacked beside his bed. His glasses were on the bedside table, and without the glasses, Austria seemed so vulnerable, so bare as his hands twitched on the bed beside his thighs. He had folded him into his arms cautiously, pressing himself to that thin body and soothing the trembling hands, kissing his hair softly. He was surprised Roderich allowed him to do that, having just had his ex-wife dragged off in front of him. All of a sudden, Roderich just let out a dry sob as he turned around and pressed his face into his chest, and he sobs dryly into his arms. No more tears, just anguish, pain, regret and all other conflicted emotions wound into faint, cracked sobs as he held the other Germanic nation close through the night. It had been tough, but at the end, before the brunette fell asleep, he murmured three words that hadn't been said so long to him, it sounded almost, not German.

"_Ich liebe dich."_

* * *

Roderich's better now, but he still is scared of anything that reminds him of concentration camps. He flinches at any shape that resembles the Star of David and unconsciously trembles when he hears gunshots. He still works hard with his superiors to bring Austria back into the world, does his best to help his country recover and attends world meetings to update the other nations on his country's progress. He has recovered enough to look at the Allies in the eye and even hug West. He still spends time with Hungary, occasionally meeting to discuss trade affairs and relations. He has even gotten back on good terms with Switzerland, even having the occasional dinner of bickering and partially silent wars.

Best of all, Roderich spends most of his time with _him_, and he loves it. It doesn't matter if he knows that he is going to be separated from him, that he is going to be with Russia as part of the decisions made in the Potsdam and Yalta Conferences. Roderich knows, but he keeps silent, and lets Gilbert love him, and loves Gilbert back the same. He lets Gilbert make him breakfast, lets Gilbert throw himself around him, lets Gilbert bring him out on fancy dates, and lets Gilbert make love to him. In return, Gilbert lets him play the piano of violin for him, lets him mend his clothes and do his laundry, lets him clean the house every day, and lets him tease in the privacy of the bedroom, because he can be _so damn hot_ when he does so.

He blinks back the tears as he looks down at the peaceful sleeping face of Roderich, and something in his chest tightens as he remembers the fact that he has to leave this house soon, he has to leave his lover soon. No more waking up to mornings watching the brunette sleep, no more listening to the familiar drifts of classical music throughout the day, no more eating cake in the evenings with an ice cold beer; all of it would be gone, and he would spend the days in Russia's big house in Moscow, watching the snow fly by the windows.

* * *

"Hmmm…. Gilbert? What's with the moodiness this morning?"

He blinks as the other Germanic nation blinks sleepily up at him in return, lashes fluttering rapidly as the brunette tries to get his eyes open. He huffs and throws his head back on the pillows, startling Gilbird, who squeaks in shock and flies off somewhere in the room. After a few groans and tosses and turns, because Roderich is just _not_ a morning person, the brunette finally rolls up into a sitting position and wraps his lower body in the sheets and bundles himself against his silver-haired lover, taking in the sight on the bedside table.

"Oh Gilbert, you didn't have to," Roderich sighs as he reaches out for the now lukewarm coffee and cradles it in his hands, taking small sips of the dark-brown liquid. The sight is just so domestic and heart-warming that Gilbert just couldn't resist pulling him into his arms, holding him tightly as the brunette lets out a small squeak of indignation, grumbling about uncouth assholes into his coffee as he presses a long hard kiss to the untidy brown hair and breathes in the unique smell of coffee, vanilla and velvet that is the living nation called Austria, with the human name of Roderich Eldestein.

"Gilbert," his lover pulls back with a slight frown on his face, cupping his precious coffee in his hands as to not spill it on the sheets. Well, Roderich would be more concerned about his coffee than the sheets because when it comes to coffee and music, they take priority over anything else. He sighs as he draws the grumbling nation back into his arms again and they just sit there in silence, the only sound being the breathing and the occasional clack of Roderich's teeth against his mug, because a barely-awake Roderich is a clumsy Roderich and he doesn't give a damn about elegance in bed. He sits there with his lover in his arms, drawing circles on the flat skin of the brunette's stomach and marvels at the faint scars crisscrossed across the pale skin, not like he doesn't have any himself. It's because they are part of Roderich, and they are what make him beautiful. After a long silence, he decides to be honest and opens his mouth.

"I was thinking about the day I would have to leave you."

At the sentence, Roderich lowers his coffee mug from his mouth, his lips turning down slightly at the edges as he turns around to lock his unwavering violet gaze onto his lover. He meets that burning gaze head on with his own blood red eyes, because there is nothing to be ashamed or afraid about, and he's not scared to admit it to Roderich. After a few minutes of silent staring, his lover finally looks away as he leans over him to set his mug on the bedside table and pick up the bowl of bacon and scrambled eggs.

"But you'll come back, won't you?"

* * *

The question comes so easily, like it was an everyday conversation. Snuggling closer to him, Roderich picks up the fork to feed himself a mouthful of egg and a small rind of bacon, chewing it carefully before swallowing the mouthful and continuing to feed himself the rest. He stares at the brunette, not understanding his point or his relaxed attitude towards the issue.

"But I might—"

"You might not come back?"

Roderich completes his sentence for him, still chewing on a slice of bacon as he frowns at one of the rinds on the plate. He looks away from the food to lock eyes with Gilbert again, the familiar exasperated look taking over his handsome features before he sets the bowl on his lap. At the same time, he reaches up with his left hand to entangle his fingers in the silver tresses of his lover before jerking his head down fiercely and kissing him hard.

The kiss caught him off guard, but soon, he is fighting hard to take dominance of the kiss, trying to make sure that Roderich turns into a melting pool of sensation, but at the same time it is _oh so hard_ to take control when his usually meek lover turns all aggressive and it turns him on. Finally breaking away from the kiss, he goes for that slender neck, but Roderich's tight grip in his hair jerks him back up so that they are eye to eye, nose to nose, and those violet irises are burning a hole through his own pupils all the way through the back of his head.

"Don't. Ever. Say. That. Gilbert. Beilschmidt."

He's taken back by the anger in the brunette's voice, but he surely doesn't miss the tears pooling in the corner of his eyes. As Roderich sets the bowl of food on the other side of the bed, he pulls himself up to straddle Gilbert, not caring that the only piece of clothing on him is a pair of boxers in his own flag, gripping his lover's face in his hands, forcing their eyes to stay locked as he sits down on his lap, squinting at him due to his absence of glasses.

"I know there's the possibility of you never coming back, Gilbert. But who cares about that? If you really love me as you claim to, you should always think about coming back here, coming home. To Ludwig, to Francis, to Antonio, to Elizaveta, to _me_; we will wait for you as long as it takes, _I _will wait for you as long as it takes."

"Roder—"

"You think I haven't thought about it? I have! And it pains me so much when I think about it, because I just can't imagine a world without you, I can't imagine my life without you, and my worst nightmare is waking up to an empty bed to realize that you'll never be there again, that you're _never, ever _coming back. You think it hurts to go? Well, it hurts _even more_ to _see _you go. To watch you cross that border and realize that we could have done something, but we didn't, and we agreed to let him take you into his country that is forever so cold. You think it hurts for you? Think again!"

He is speechless at the sight before him. A Roderich all flustered and upset his hair still tousled from sleep and his face flushed red from anger and frustration with tears streaming openly down his cheeks. He still notes that the nation's face is too thin and his hipbones are still sharp even with his boxers on, digging into his thighs painfully. More importantly, he feels like his head is spinning, still reeling from a slap that was never there, as his heart clenches painfully with the realization that he wasn't the only one hurting. Of course it hurts for all of them, and it hurts _Roderich_ too.

Damnit, when did he become such as asshole?

He reaches his arms out helplessly, in a sign of apology and Roderich folds himself into them, wiping his tears on his wife beater as he wraps arms that are still too thin around Gilbert's larger form and holds him close, breathing evenly into his chest. He buries his face into the messy brown hair that smells like vanilla and clutches the thin form to his own, melding their bodies together.

* * *

"I'm sorry."

Roderich twists in his arms to reach for his coffee again, his nod being his only sign of acknowledgement; because he knows that Gilbert isn't good with words, and he's not good with emotions either. That simple sentence is enough and Gilbert knows he's forgiven when Roderich doesn't pull away from him, instead motioning to bring the now-kinda-cold breakfast over, pouting at him slightly in a silent message to feed him. He relents and smiles as his lover chews the food, swallows, and kisses him softly.

"Don't think about it now, think about it when it comes," Roderich whispers against his lips as he curves one pale hand around his face, pressing kisses in between his words and effectively distracting him from the food.

"Think about us now, and know that I just want to be with you now. It doesn't matter what tomorrow's going to be like, so we'll just make use of all the times together and just stay together, _ja_?"

"Hmmm," he nods in return, because that's all he could say, because he knows that his lover's right and that's all they could do at this point.

"I love you," he murmurs unabashedly into his lover's lips before stealing his breath away yet again before the brunette pushes him off, his face slightly pink from the confession and looks away, muttering something about finishing breakfast and not wasting food.

"Feed me."

He smirks slightly as Roderich takes the fork from him and feeds him a forkful of egg, his arms crooked at an awkward angle as he tries to feed him without turning around. He smirks around the fork as he swirls his tongue over it intentionally, grinning internally at the blush that colored the other man's cheeks.

"Gilbert! It's far too early in the morning for this! Besides, I've just started eating!"

Well, the future would have to come later, and he would just think about it when he's there freezing his ass off in Russia, with the maniacal Soviet with his crazy household of Baltic States and his sisters (and there's Belarus, oh dear lord). As he takes the bowl away from his blushing lover along with the cup of coffee and flips the brunette onto the sheets, he decides he'll just forget about it for now, and just wait for it to come to him.

The surprise comes when Roderich flips him over and gives him a wry smile, sucking on that damned spoon so suggestively and he leans down to whisper in his ear, his hot breath washing over his skin which makes him shiver unconsciously and grin at the same time. Oh, Russia, all the treaties, the entire world be damned; he could think about it like Roderich said, when the time comes, because his lover _his_ world right now, and he's all that he needs.

"_Cause right now it's you and me."_

* * *

**A/N:**

**Hello guys /crawls out of the hellhole called midyears. **

**First of all, Midyears were shitty, and I don't even get a break although exams ended today. I'm getting back a subject immediately tomorrow and a whole slew of papers the next week. And I'm going to get so depressed because I think I'll fail at least 2 subjects, and that is a lot, considering the amount of work I put in for this exam, it wasn't fair cause papers were shit hard and I panicked most of the way. **

**Well, on the bright side, I'll be updating again! And I'll reply all your reviews too! So please be patient, wait and the replies/updates will come! It'll come slow, cause well, I'll be crying due to results and sometimes I just can't bring myself to write properly. **

**This PruAus fic is officially my first step into writing for the Hetalia fandom! YAY! It's dedicated to Paige my kouhai (which I have honestly no idea whether she ships PruAus or not), but here's my first try at a historical/angst + fluff fic, and I hope I didn't get my history facts wrong! But do tell me if they are! Jiayou for O levels kouhai! One week moreeeeeeeee~  
**

**See ya around! **

**/rushes off to avoid screaming teachers**


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